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Pip Van Winkle 

1 BY 

^Vashinaton Irvinq 





Class ^Sz 



Book. 
Copyright^ 






COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 




WASHINGTON IRVING 



DECORATIONS BY 
R. W. SAWYE R 



BOSTON 

John W. Luce & Company 

LONDON 



7 



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Copyright 1909, by 

JOHN W. LUCE & COMPANY 

Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 



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HE following tale was found 
among the papers of the late 
Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old 
gentleman of New York, who 
was very curious in the Dutch 
history of the province, and 
the manners of the descend- 
ants from its primitive settlers- His historical 
researches, however, did not lie so much among 
books, as among men ; for the former are 
lamentably scanty on his favourite topics; 
whereas he found the old burghers, and still 
more their wives, rich in that legendary lore 
so invaluable to true history. Whenever, there- 
fore, he happened upon a genuine Dutch family, 
snugly shut up in its low-roofed farm-house, 




under a spreading sycamore, he looked upon it 
as a little clasped volume of black-letter, and 
studied it with the zeal of a book-worm. 

The result of all these researches was a his- 
tory of the province, during the reign of the 
Dutch governors, which he published some 
years since- There have been various opinions 
as to the literary character of his work, and, 
to tell the truth, it is not a whit better than it 
should be. Its chief merit is its scrupulous ac- 
curacy, which indeed was a little questioned, 
on its first appearance, but has since been com- 
pletely established; and it is now admitted 
into all historical collections, as a book of 
unquestionable authority. 

The old gentleman died shortly after the 
publication of his work, and now that he is 
dead and gone, it cannot do much harm to his 
memory to say, that his time might have been 
much better employed in weightier labours. 
He, however, was apt to ride his hobby his 
own way; and though it did now and then kick 
up the dust a little in the eyes of its neighbors, 
and grieve the spirit of some friends, for whom 
he felt the truest deference and affection; yet 
his errors and follies are remembered "more 
in sorrow than in anger ," and it begins to be 
suspected, that he never intended to injure or 




offend. But however his memory may be 
appreciated by critics, it is still held dear among 
many folk, whose good opinion is well worth 
having; particularly certain biscuit bakers, who 
have gone so far as to imprint his likeness on 
their new year's cakes, and have thus given 
him a chance for immortality, almost equal to 
the being stamped on a Waterloo Medal, or a 
Queen Anne's farthing. 





HOEVER has mads a voyage 
up the Hudson, must remem- 
ber the Kaatskill mountains- 
They are a dismembered 
branch of the great Appalach- 
ian family, and are seen away 
to the west of the river, 
swelling up to a noble height, and lording it 
over the surrounding country. Every change 
of season, every change of weather, indeed 
every hour of the day, produces some change 
in the magical hues and shapes of these moun- 
tains, and they are regarded by all the good 
wives, far and near, as perfect barometers 
When the weather is fair and settled, they are 
clothed in blue and purple, and print their bold 
outlines on the clear evening sky ; but some- 
times when the rest of the landscape is cloud- 
less, they will gather a hood of gray vapours 
about their summits, which, in the last rays of 
the setting sun, will glow and light up like a 
crown of glory. 

At the foot of these fairy mountains, the 
voyager may have descried the light smoke 
curling up from a village, whose shingle roofs 
gleam among the trees, just where the blue 
tints of the upland melt away into the fresh 
green of the nearer landscape. It is a little 
village of great antiquity, having been founded 
by some of the Dutch colonists, in the early 



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times of the province, just about the beginning 
of the government of the good Peter Stuyvesant 
(may he rest in peace!), and there were some 
of the houses of the original settlers standing 
within a few years, built of small yellow bricks 
brought from Holland, having latticed windows 
and gable fronts, surmounted with weathercocks. 
In that same village, and in one of these very 
houses (which, to tell the precise truth, was 
sadly time-worn and weather-beaten), there lived 
many years since, while the country was yet a 
province of Great Britain, a simple good-natured 
fellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was 
a descendent of the Van Winkles who figured so 
gallantly in the chivalrous days of Peter 
Stuyvesant, and accompanied him to the siege of 
Fort Christina. He inherited, however, but little 
of the martial character of his ancestors. I have 
observed that he was a simple, good natured man; 
he was moreover, a kind neighbor, and an 
obedient henpecked husband. Indeed, to the 
latter circumstance might be owing that meekness 
of spirit which gained him such universal popu- 
larity ; for those men are most apt to be 
obsequious and conciliating abroad, who are 
under the discipline of shrews at home. Their 
tempers, doubtless, are rendered pliant and 
malleable in the fiery furnace of domestic tribu- 
lation, and a curtain lecture is worth all the 
sermons in the world for teaching the virtues of 
patience and long-suffering. A termagant wife 
may therefore, in some respect, be considered a 
tolerable blessing ; and if so, Rip Van Winkle 
was thrice blessed. 




Certain it is, that he was a great favourite 
among all the good wives of the village, who, 
as usual with the amiable sex, took his part in all 
family squabbles ; and never failed, whenever 
they talked those matters over in their evening 
gossipings, to lay all the blame on Dame Van 
Winkle. The children of the village, too, would 
shout with joy whenever he approached. He 
assisted at their sports, made their playthings, 
taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and 
told them long stories of ghosts, witches, and 
Indians. Whenever he went dodging about the 
village, he was surrounded by a troop of them, 
hanging on his skirts, clambering on his back, and 
playing a thousand tricks on him with impunity ; 
and not a dog would bark at him throughout the 
neighborhood. 

The great error in Rip's composition was an in- 
superable aversion to all kinds of profitable labor. 
It could not be from the want of assiduity or per- 
serverance ; for he would sit on a wet rock, with 
a rod as long and heavy as a Tartar's lance, and 
fish all day without a murmur, even though he 
should not be encouraged by a single nibble- He 
would carry a fowling piece on his shoulder, for 
hours together, trudging through woods and 
swamps, and up hill and down dale, to shoot a few 
squirrels or wild pigeons- He would never refuse 
to assist a neighbor even in the roughest toil, and 
was a foremost man at all country frolics for husk- 
ing Indian corn, or building stone fences ; the 
women of the village, too, used to employ him to 
run their errands, and to do such little odd jobs as 
their less obliging husbands would not do for 







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them. — In a word, Rip was ready to attend to 
anybody's business but his own ; but as to doing 
family duty, and keeping his farm in order, he 
found it impossible. 

In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on 
his farm ; it was the most pestilent little piece of 
ground in the whole country ; everything about it 
went wrong, and would go wrong, in spite of him. 
His fences were continually falling to pieces ; his 
cow would either go astray, or get among the 
cabbages ; weeds were sure to grow quicker in his 
fields than anywhere else ; the rain always made 
a point of setting in just as he had some out-door 
work to do ; so that though his patrimonial estate 
had dwindled away under his management, acre 
by acre, until there was little more left than a 
mere patch of Indian corn and potatoes, yet it was 
the worst conditioned farm in the neighborhood. 

His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if 
they belonged to nobody. His son Rip, an urchin 
begotten in his own likeness, promised to inherit 
the habits, with the old clothes of his father. He 
was generally seen trooping like a colt, at his 
mother's heels, equipped in a pair of his father's 
cast-off galligaskins, which he had much ado to 
hold up with one hand, as a fine lady does her 
train in bad weather. 

Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those 
happy mortals, of foolish, well oiled dispositions, 
who take the world easy, eat white bread or 
brown, whichever can be got with least thought 
or trouble, and would rather starve on a penny 
than work for a pound. If left to himself, he 





would have whistled life away, in perfect con- 
tentment; but his wife kept continually dinning in 
his ears about his idleness, his carelessness, and 




i the ruin he was bringing on his family Morning, 

" noon, and night, her tongue was incessantly going, 

and everything he said or did was sure to produce 





a torrent of household eloquence. Rip had but 
one way of replying to all lectures of the kind, and 
that, by frequent use, had grown into a habit. He 
shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, cast up 
his eyes, but said nothing. This, however, 
always provoked a fresh volley from his wife ; 
so that he was fain to draw off his forces, and 
take to the outside of the house - the only side 
which, in truth, belongs to a henpecked husband. 

Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, 
who was as much henpecked as his master ; for 
Dame Van Winkle regarded them as companions 
in idleness, and even looked upon Wolf with an 
evil eye, as the cause of his master's going so 
often astray. True it is, in all points of spirit 
befitting an honourable dog, he was as courageous 
an animal as ever scoured the woods — but what 
courage can withstand the ever-during and all- 
besetting terrors of a woman's tongue ? - The 
moment Wolf entered the house his crest fell, 
his tail dropped to the ground or curled between 
his legs, he sneaked about with a gallows air, 
casting many a sidelong glance at Dame Van 
Winkle, and at the least flourish of a broomstick 
or ladle, he would fly to the door with yelping 
precipitation. 

Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van 
Winkle as years of matrimony rolled on ; a tart 
temper never mellows with age, and a sharp 
tongue is the only edge tool that grows keener 
with constant use. For a long while he used to 
console himself, when driven from home, by 
frequenting a kind of perpetual club of the sages, 
philosophers, and other idle personages of the 



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village ; which held its sessions on a bench before 
a small inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of 
his majesty George the Third. Here they used to 
sit in the shade, of a long lazy summer's day, talk 
listlessly over village gossip, or tell endless sleepy 
stories about nothing. But it would have been 
worth any statesman's money to have heard the 
profound discussions that sometimes took place, 
when by chance an old newspaper fell into their 
hands, from some passing traveller. How 
solemnly they would listen to the contents, as 
drawled out by Derrick Van Bummel, the school- 
master, a dapper learned little man, who was not 
to be daunted by the most gigantic word in the 
dictionary ; and how sagely they would deliberate 
upon public events some months after they had 
taken place. 

The opinions of this junto were completely 
controlled by Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of the 
village, and landlord of the inn, at the door of 
which he took his seat from morning till night, 
just moving sufficiently to avoid the sun, and keep 
in the shade of a large tree ; so that the neighbours 
could tell the hour by his movements as accurately 
as by a sun-dial. It is true, he was rarely heard 
to speak, but smoked his pipe incessantly. His 
adherents, however (for every great man has his 
adherents), perfectly understood him, and knew 
how to gather his opinions. When anything that 
was read or related displeased him, he was ob- 
served to smoke his pipe vehemently, and send 
forth short, frequent, and angry puffs ; but when 
pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly and 
tranquilly, and emit it in light and placid clouds, 







and sometimes taking the pipe from his mouth, 
and letting the fragrant vapour curl about his nose, 
would gravely nod his head in token of perfect 
approbation. 

From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip 
was at length routed by his termagant wife, who 
would suddenly break in upon the tranquility of 
the assemblage and call the members all to 
naught ; nor was that august personage, Nicholas 
Vedder himself, sacred from the daring tongue of 
this terrible virago, who charged him outright 
with encouraging her husband in habits of 
idleness. 

Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; 
and his only alternative to escape from the labour 
of the farm and the clamour of his wife, was to 
take gun in hand, and stroll away into the woods. 
Here he would sometimes seat himself at the foot 
of a tree, and share the contents of his wallet 
with Wolf, with whom he sympathised as a 
fellow-sufferer in persecution. "Poor Wolf," 
he would say, " thy mistress leads thee a dog's 
life of it ; but never mind, my lad, whist I live 
thou shalt never want a friend to stand by thee !" 
Wolf would wag his tail, look wistfully in his 
master's face, and if dogs can feel pity, I verily 
believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his 
heart. 

In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal 
day, Rip had unconsciously scrambled to one of 
the highest parts of the Kaatskill mountains. He 
was after his favourite sport of squirrel-shooting, 
and the still solitudes had echoed and re-echoed 
with the reports of his gun. Panting and fatigued, 





he threw himself, late in the afternoon, on a green 
knoll, covered with mountain herbage, that 
crowned the brow of a precipice. From an open- 
ing between the trees he could overlook all the 
lower country for many a mile of rich woodland. 
He saw at a distance the lordly Hudson, far, far 
below him, moving on its silent but majestic 
course, with the reflection of a purple cloud, or 
the sail of a lagging bark, here and there sleeping 
on its glassy bosom, and at last losing itself in the 
blue highlands. 

On the other side he looked down into a deep 
mountain glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the 
bottom filled with fragments from the impending 
cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of 
the setting sun. For some time Rip lay musing 
on this scene ; evening was gradually advancing ; 
the mountains began to throw their long blue 
shadows over the valleys ; he saw that it would 
be dark long before he could reach the village, and 
he heaved a heavy sigh when he thought of en- 
countering the terrors of Dame Van Winkle. 

As he was about to descend, he heard a voice 
from a distance, hallooing, " Rip Van Winkle ! 
Rip Van Winkle !" He looked around, but could 
see nothing but a crow winging its solitary flight 
across the mountain. He thought his fancy must 
have deceived him and turned again to descend, 
when he heard the same cry ring through the still 
evening air : " Rip Van Winkle ! Rip Van 
Winkle !" — at the same time Wolf bristled up his 
back, and giving a low growl, skulked to his mas- 
ter's side, looking fearfully down into the glen. 
Rip now felt a vague apprehension stealing over 



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him ; he looked anxiously in the same direction, 
and perceived a strange figure slowly toiling up 
the rocks, and bending under the weight of some- 
thing he carried on his back. He was surprised 
to see any human being in this lonely and un- 
frequented place, but supposing it to be some one 
of the neighbourhood in need of his assistance he 
hastened down to yield it. 

On nearer approach, he was still more surprised 
at the singularity of the stranger's appearance. 
He was a short, square-built old fellow, with 
thick bushy hair, and a grizzled beard. His dress 
was of the antique Dutch fashion — a cloth jerkin 
strapped round the waist — several pairs of 
breeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated 
with rows of buttons down the sides, and 
bunches at the knees. He bore on his shoulder a 
stout keg, that seemed full of liquor, and made 
signs for Rip to approach and assist him with the 
load- Though rather shy and distrustful of this 
new acquaintance, Rip complied with his usual 
alacrity, and mutually relieving each other, they 
clambered up a narrow gully, apparently the dry 
bed of a mountain torrent. As they ascended, 
Rip every now and then heard long rolling peals, 
like distant thunder, that seemed to issue out of a 
deep ravine, or rather cleft between lofty rocks, 
toward which their rugged path conducted. He 
paused for an instant, but supposing it to be the 
muttering of one of those transient thunder 
showers which often take place in mountain 
heights, he proceeded. Passing through the 
ravine, they came to a hollow, like a small amphi- 
theatre, surrounded by perpendicular precipices 





over the brinks of which impending trees shot 
their branches, so that you only caught glimpses 
of the azure sky, and the bright evening cloud, 
During the whole time Rip and his companion 
had laboured on in silence ; for though the 
former marvelled greatly what could be the 
object of carrying a keg of liquor up this wild 
mountain, yet there was something strange and 
incomprehensible about the unknown, that inspir- 
ed awe and checked familiarity. 

On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of 
wonder presented themselves. On a level spot 
in the centre was a company of odd-looking 
personages playing at nine-pins. They were 
dressed in a quaint, outlandish fashion ; some 
wore short doublets, others jerkins, with long 
knives in their belts, and most of them had 
enormous breeches, of similar style with that of 
the guide's. Their visages, too, were peculiar : 
one had a large head, broad face, and small 
piggish eyes ; the face of another seemed to con- 
sist entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a 
white sugarloaf hat, set off with a little red cock's 
tail. They all had beards, of various shapes and 
colours. There was one who seemed to be the 
commander. He was a stout old gentleman, with 
a weather-beaten countenance ; he wore a laced 
doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-crowned hat 
and feather, red stockings, and high-heeled shoes, 
with roses in them. The whole group reminded 
Rip of the figures in an old Flemish painting, in 
the parlour of Dominie Van Schaick, the village 
parson, and which had been brought over from 
Holland at the time of the settlement. 





What seemed particularly odd to Rip was, 
that though these folks were evidently amusing 
themselves, yet they maintained the gravest 
faces, the most mysterious silence, and were, 
withal, the most melancholy party of pleasure he 
had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted the 
stillness of the scene, but the noise of the balls, 
which, whenever they were rolled, echoed along 
the mountains like rumbling peals of thunder. 

As Rip and his companion approached them, 
they suddenly desisted from their play, and 
stared at him with such fixed statue-like gaze, 
and such strange, uncouth, lack-lustre coun- 
tenances, that his heart turned within him, and 
his knees smote together. His companion now 
emptied the contents of the keg into large flagons, 
and made signs to him to wait upon the company. 
He obeyed with fear and trembling ; they quaffed 
the liquor in profound silence, and then returned 
to their game. 

By degrees, Rip's awe and apprehension sub- 
sided. He even ventured, when no eye was fixed 
upon him, to taste the beverage, which he found 
had much of the flavour of excellent Hollands. 
He was naturally a thirsty soul, and was soon 
tempted to repeat the draught. One taste pro- 
voked another, and he reiterated his visits to the 
flagon so often, that at length his senses were 
overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, and his 
head gradually declined, and he fell into a 
deep sleep. 

On waking, he found himself on the green knoll 
from whence he had first seen the old man of the 
glen. He rubbed his eyes — it was a bright sunny 





morning. The birds were hopping and twittering 
among the bushes, and the eagle was wheeling 
aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze. 
" Surely," thought Rip, " I have not slept here 
all night." He recalled the occurrences before he 
fell asleep. The strange man with a keg of 
liquor— the mountain ravine— the wild retreat 
among the rocks— the wo-begone party at nine- 
pins — the flagon — " Oh ! that flagon ! that wicked 
flagon !" thought Rip—" what excuse shall I make 
to Dame Van Winkle ?" 




He looked round for his gun, but in place of the 
clean well-oiled fowling-piece, he found an old 
firelock lying by him, the barrel encrusted with 
rust, and lock falling off, and the stock worm- 
eaten. He now suspected that the grave roysters 
of the mountain had put a trick upon him, and 
having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of 
his gun. Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he 




might have strayed away after a squirrel or par- 
tridge. He whistled after him and shouted his 
name, but all in vain ; the echoes repeated his 
whistle and shout, but no dog was to be seen. 

He determined to revisit the scene of the last 
evening's gambol, and if he met with any of the 
party, to demand his dog and gun. As he rose to 
walk he found himself stiff in the joints, and 
wanting in his usual activity. "These mountain 
beds do not agree with me," thought Rip ; "and if 
this frolic should lay me up with a fit of the rheu- 
matism, I shall have a blessed time with Dame 
Van Winkle." With some difficulty he got down 
into the glen : he found the gully up which he and 
his companion had ascended the preceding even- 
ing ; but to his astonishment a mountain stream 
was now foaming down it, leaping from rock to 
rock, and filling the glen with babbling mur- 
murs. He, however, made shift to scramble up 
its sides, working his toilsome way through 
thickets of birch, sassafras, and witch-hazel, and 
sometimes tripped up or entangled by the wild 
grape-vines that twisted their coils and tendrils 
from tree to tree, and spread a kind of net- work 
in his path. 

At length he reached to where the ravine had 
opened through the cliffs, to the amphitheatre ; 
but no traces of such opening remained. The 
rocks presented a high impenetrable wall, over 
which the torrent came tumbling in a sheet of 
feathery foam, and fell into a broad deep basin, 
black from the shadows of the surrounding forest. 
Here, then, poor Rip was brought to a stand. 
He again called and whistled after his dog; he 








was only answered by the cawing of a flock of 
idle crows, sporting high in air about a dry tree 
that overhung a sunny precipice ; and who, secure 
in their elevation, seemed to look down and scoff 
at the poor man's perplexities. What was to be 
done ? the morning was passing away, and Rip felt 
famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved 
to give up his dog and gun ; he dreaded to meet 
his wife ; but it would not do to starve among the 




mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the 
rusty firelock, and, with a heart full of trouble and 
anxiety, turned his steps homeward. 

As he approached the village he met a number 
of people, but none whom he knew, which some- 
what surprised him, for he had thought himself 
acquainted with every one in the country round. 
Their dress, too, was of a different fashion from 
that to which he was accustomed. They all stared 





at him with equal marks of surprise, and when- 
ever they cast eyes upon him, invariably stroked 
their chins. The constant recurrence of this 
gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the same, 
when, to his astonishment, he found his beard 
had grown a foot long ! 

He had now entered the skirts of the village. 
A troop of strange children ran at his heels, hoot- 
ing after him, and pointing at his gray beard. 
The dogs, too, not one of which he recognised for 
an old acquaintance, barked at him as he passed. 
The very village was altered: it was larger and 
more populous. There were rows of houses 
which he had never seen before, and those which 
had been his familiar haunts had disappeared. 
Strange names were over the doors — strange faces 
at the windows — everything was strange. His 
mind now misgave him; he began to doubt 
whether both he and the world around him were 
not bewitched. Surely this was his native village, 
which he had left but the day before- There 
stood the Kaatskill mountains — there ran the 
silver Hudson at a. distance — there was every hill 
and dale precisely as it had always been— Rip 
was sorely perplexed — " That flagon last night," 
thought he, " has addled my poor head sadly !" 

It was with some difficulty that he found the 
way to his own house, which he approached with 
silent awe, expecting every moment to hear the 
shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle- He found the 
house gone to decay — the roof fallen in, the win- 
dows shattered, and the doors off the hinges- 
A half-starved dog, that looked like Wolf, was 
skulking about it. Rip called him by name, but 





the cur snarled, showed his teeth, and passed on. 
This was an unkind cut indeed — " My very dog," 
sighed poor Rip, " has forgotten me !" 

He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, 
Dame Van Winkle had always kept in neat order. 
It was empty, forlorn, and apparently abandoned. 
This desolateness overcame all his connubial 
fears — he called loudly for his wife and children, 
the lonely chambers rung for a moment with his 
voice, and then all again was silence. 

He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old 
resort, the village inn— but it too was gone. A 
large rickety wooden building stood in its place, 
with great gaping windows, some of them broken, 
and mended with old hats and petticoats, and 
over the door was painted, " The Union Hotel, 
by Jonathan Doolittle." Instead of the great tree 
that used to shelter the quiet little Dutch inn of 
yore, there now was reared a tall naked pole, 
with something on the top that looked like a red 
night-cap, and from it was fluttering a flag, on 
which was a singular assemblage of stars and 
stripes — all this was strange and incomprehensible. 
He recognised on the sign, however, the ruby face 
of King George, under which he had smoked so 
many a peaceful pipe, but even this was singularly 
metamorphosed. The red coat was changed for 
one of blue and buff, a sword was held in the hand 
instead of a sceptre, the head was decorated with 
a cocked hat, and underneath was painted in large 
characters, GENERAL WASHINGTON. 

There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the 
door, but none that Rip recollected- The very 
character of the people seemed changed. There 





was a busy, bustling, disputatious tone about it, 
instead of the accustomed phlegm and drowsy 
tranquillity. He looked in vain for the sage 
Nicholas Vedder, with his broad face, double 
chin, and fair long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco 
smoke instead of idle speeches ; or Van Bummel, 
the schoolmaster, doling forth the contents of an 
ancient newspaper. In place of these, a lean, 
bilious-looking fellow, with his pockets full of 
handbills, was haranguing vehemently about 
rights of citizens — election — members of con- 
gress — liberty — Bunker's hill— heroes of seventy- 
six — and other words, that were a perfect Baby- 
lonish jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle. 

The appearance of Rip, with his long grizzled 
beard, his rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, 
and the army of women and children that had 
gathered at his heels, soon attracted the attention 
of the tavern politician. They crowded round him, 
eyeing him from head to foot, with great curiosity. 
The orator bustled up to him, and drawing him 
partly aside, inquired " on which side he voted." 
Rip stared in vacant stupidity. Another short but 
busy little fellow pulled him by the arm, and ris- 
ing on tip-toe, inquired in his ear, . whether he 
was Federal or Democrat.'' Rip was equally at 
a loss to comprehend the question ; when a know- 
ing, self-important old gentleman, in a sharp 
cocked hat, made his way through the crowd, 
putting them to the right and left with his elbows 
as he passed, and planting himself before Van 
Winkle, with one arm akimbo, the other resting 
on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat penetrat- 
ing, as it were, into his very soul, demanded, in 





an austere tone, what brought him to the elec- 
tion with a gun on his shoulder, and a mob at his 
heels, and whether he meant to breed a riot in 
the village?" "Alas! gentlemen," cried Rip, 
somewhat dismayed, " I am a poor quiet man, a 
native of the place, and a loyal subject of the 
King, God bless him !" 

Here a general shout burst from the bystanders, 
"A tory ! a tory ! a spy ! a refugee ! hustle him ! 
away with him !" it was with great difficulty that 
the self-important man in the cocked hat restored 
order ; and having assumed a tenfold austerity of 
brow, demanded again of the unknown culprit 
what he came there for, and whom he was seek- 
ing. The poor man humbly assured him that he 
meant no harm, but merely came there in search 
of some of his neighbours, who used to keep about 
the tavern. 

"Well — who are they? — name them." 

Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, 
11 Where's Nicholas Vedder?" 

There was silence for a little while, when an 
old man replied, in a thin piping voice, " Nicholas 
Vedder? why he is dead and gone these eighteen 
years ! There was a wooden tombstone in the 
church-yard that used to tell all about him, but 
that's rotted and gone too." 

"Where's Brom Dutcher?" 

" Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning 
of the war ; some say he was killed at the storm- 
ing of Stoney-Point— others say he was drowned 
in a squall at the foot of Antony's Nose. I don't 
know — he never came back again." 

"Where's Van Bummel, the school-master?" 




"He went off to the wars too, was a great 
militia general, and is now in Congress." 

Rip's heart died away, at hearing of these sad 
changes in his home and friends, and finding 
himself thus alone in the world. Every answer 
puzzled him, too, by treating of such enormous 
lapses of time, and of matters which he could 
not understand: war — congress — Stoney-Point ; — 
he had no courage to ask after any more friends, 
but cried out in despair, " Does nobody here 
know Rip Van Winkle ?" 




"Oh, Rip Van Winkle!" exclaimed two or 
three, " Oh, to be sure ! that's Rip Van Winkle 
yonder, leaning against the tree." 

Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of 
himself, as he went up the mountain : apparently 
as lazy, and certainly as ragged. The poor fellow 
was now completely confounded. He doubted 
his own identity, and whether he was himself or 
another man. In the mist of his bewilderment, 
the man in the cocked hat demanded who he was, 
and what was his name ? 




44 God knows," exclaimed he, at his wit's end; 
"I'm not myself — I'm somebody else — that's me 
yonder— no— that's somebody else, got into my 
shoes — I was myself last night, but I fell asleep 
on the mountain, and they've changed my gun, 
and everything's changed, and I'm changed, and 
I can't tell what's my name, or who I am!" 

The bystanders began now to look at each 
other, nod, wink significantly, and tap their 
fingers against their foreheads. There was a 
whisper, also, about securing the gun, and keeping 
the old fellow from doing mischief, at the very 
suggestion of which the self-important man in the 
cocked hat retired with some precipitation. At 
this critical moment a fresh likely-looking woman 
pressed through the throng to get a peep at the 
gray-bearded man. She had a chubby child in her 
arms, which, frightened at his looks, began to cry. 
"Hush, Rip," cried she, "hush, you little fool, the 
old man wont hurt you." The name of the child, 
the air of the mother, and tone of her voice, 
all awakened a train of recollection in his mind. 
"What is your name, my good woman?" asked he. 

11 Judith Gardenier." 

11 And your fathers name ?" 

"Ah, poor man, his name was Rip Van Winkle; 
it's twenty years since he went away from home 
with his gun, and never has been heard of since — 
his dog came home without him; but whether he 
shot himself, or was carried away by the Indians, 
nobody can tell. I was then but a little girl" 

Rip had but one question more to ask ; but he 
put it with a faltering voice : 

"Where's your mother?" 




"Oh, she too had died but a short time since ; 
she broke a blood vessel in a fit of passion at a 
New-England pedlar." 

There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this 
intelligence. The honest man could contain him- 
self no longer. — He caught his daughter and her 
child in his arms.— " I am your father ! ' ' cried he — 



^ 




"Young Rip Van Winkle once— old Rip Van 
Winkle now !— Does nobody know poor Rip Van 
Winkle!" 

All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering 
out from among the crowd, put her hand to her 
brow, and peering under it in his face for a 
moment, exclaimed, " Sure enough! it is Rip Van 





Winkle — it is himself ! Welcome home again, old 
neighbour — Why, where have you been these 
twenty long years ?" 

Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty 
years had been to him as one night. The 
neighbours stared when they heard it ; some were 
seen to wink at each other, and put their tongues 
in their cheeks : and the self-important man in 
the cocked hat, who, when the alarm was over, 
had returned to the field, screwed down the 
corners of his mouth, and shook his head — upon 
which there was a general shaking of the head 
throughout the assemblage. 

It was determined, however, to take the opinion 
of old Peter Vanderdonk, who was seen slowly 
advancing up the road. He was a descendant 
of the historian of that name, who wrote one of 
the earliest accounts of the province. Peter was 
the most ancient inhabitant of the village, and 
well versed in all the wonderful events and 
traditions of the neighbourhood. He recollected 
Rip at once, and corroborated his story in the 
most satisfactory manner. He assured the com- 
pany that it was a fact, handed down from his 
ancestor the historian, that the Kaatskill mountains 
had always been haunted by strange beings. That 
it was affirmed that the great Hendrick Hudson, 
the first discoverer of the river and country, kept 
a kind of vigil there every twenty years, with his 
crew of the Half-moon, being permitted in this 
way to revisit the scenes of his enterprise, and 
keep a guardian eye upon the river, and the great 
city called by his name. That his father had once 
seen them in their old Dutch dresses playing at 





nine-pins in a hollow of the mountain ; and that 
he himself had heard, one summer afternoon, the 
sound of their balls like distant peals of thunder. 




To make a long story short the company broke 
up, and returned to the more important concerns of 
the election. Rip's daughter took him home to 




live with her : she had a snug, well-furnished 
house, and a stout cheery farmer for a husband, 
whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins that 
used to climb upon his back. As to Rips son and 
heir, who was the ditto of himself, seen leaning 
against the tree, he was employed to work on the 
farm ; but evinced an hereditary disposition to 
attend to anything else but his business. 

Rip now resumed his old walks and habits : 
he soon found many of his former cronies, though 
all rather the worse for wear and tear of time ; 
and preferred making friends among the rising 
generation, with whom he soon grew into great 
favour. 

Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived 
at that happy age when a man can do nothing 
with impunity, he took his place once more on 
the bench, at the inn door, and was reverenced as 
one of the patriarchs of the village, and a chronicle 
of the old times ' ' before the war." It was some 
time before he could get into the regular track 
of gossip, or could be made to comprehend the 
strange events that had taken place during his 
torpor. How that there had been a revolutionary 
war— that the country had thrown off the yoke of 
old England— and that, instead of being a subject 
of his Majesty George the Third, he was now a 
free citizen of the United States. Rip, in fact, 
was no politician ; the changes of states and 
empires made but little impression on him ; but 
there was one species of despotism under which 
he had long groaned, and that was — petticoat 
government. Happily, that was at an end; he 
had got his neck out of the yoke of matrimony, 



Vr *■ .i-M- 







and could go in and out whenever he pleased, 
without dreading the tyranny of Dame Van 
Winkle. Whenever her name was mentioned, 
however, he shook his head, shrugged his 
shoulders, and cast up his eyes ; which might pass 
either for an expression of resignation to his fate, 
or joy at his deliverance. 

He used to tell his story to every stranger that 
arrived at Mr. Doolittle's hotel. He was observed, 
at first, to vary on some points every time he told 
it, which was, doubtless, owing to his having so 
recently awaked- It at last settled down precisely 
to the tale I have related, and not a man, woman, 
or child in the neighbourhood, but knew it by 
heart. Some always pretended to doubt the 
reality of it, and insisted that Rip had been out of 
his head, and that this was one point on which 
he always remained flighty. The old Dutch 
inhabitants, however, almost universally gave it 
full credit. Even to this day they never hear a 
thunder storm of a summer afternoon, about the 
Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson and his 
crew are at their game of nine-pins ; and it is a 
common wish of all henpecked husbands in the 
neighbourhood, when life hangs heavy on their 
hands, that they might have a quieting draught 
out of Rip Van Winkle's flagon. 



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